


I Of The Storm

by wajjs



Series: Across The Universe (vld fics) [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Drabble, Hurt/Comfort, Langst, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 19:01:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10224977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wajjs/pseuds/wajjs
Summary: Lance is many things and isn’t most of them at the same time.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from [this](https://youtu.be/tlCkafSYNJI) song.
> 
> I recently finished watching both seasons but it's safe to say that from the first chapter I had decided that Lance is my beautiful son and he deserves all the love in the world. Sadly, I don't know how to write fluffy things... I'm sorry, son. I love you.
> 
> This is my first fic for this fandom! I should be actually working on my many other fics that I have waiting but this idea wouldn't leave me alone so. Here it is?
> 
> Hunk/Lance as a relationship is actually a minor aspect here, and the nature of their bond can be pretty much anything. It wasn't really my main focus for this, but since I love them so much perhaps I will eventually write something that does delve deeper into their bond...

 

 

**I OF THE STORM**

 

 

Lance is.

Lance is so many things, as he shifts under the light and fires without thinking twice.

He is the distant memory of summer sun tickling the skin, the pounding of rain against dry land, the warming breeze and the calm of lone roads.

 

Shiro measures the war not by time and not by battles, but by the patterns in which everyone around breaks. It’s cruel and digs deep into his soul but that’s war, that’s the nature of everything behind this fight.

Shiro knows the moment Lance doesn’t shine the war finally took over to leave nothing but ashes behind.  He would pray if he were a believer, so instead he acts and hopes to be able to support the young man as much as they all are supported by those thin (now more muscular) arms.  So that maybe the light can shine longer.  So that maybe the war doesn’t swallow them all.

 

Lance is something that doesn’t bend.  He is not fragile, though everybody knows one day he will break.  And Keith waits with bated breath, each day glad it hasn’t happened, every moment glad Lance is still wholesome.  Lance is still Lance.

So maybe Keith pushes the other harder.  So maybe they keep testing each other’s limits, but they do it good-naturedly, knowing it’s for the best.  Lance knocks him to the ground with a laughter so swift and so reviving Keith stays down and thinks that if the war doesn’t take away that sound, then there was no way they could be lost.

 

Lance isn’t calmness.  Lance is noise and movement, is carefully choreographed dances, is singing, is the constant movement of waves.  Almost like he has millions of lives inside his skin and he’s living each and every single one at the same time.  Like he has nothing to lose, like he cannot ever lose hope or his ability to turn on the lights of his eyes.

The universe is silent and so is the void, but Lance isn’t, and that makes everything right.

 

When Hunk falls, wounded, and Lance carries him to safety, Pidge wonders: he’s supporting all of us, but when we are down, who supports him? Who hugs him back?

They have no answers for that and that makes their skin itch, because it presents scenarios everybody would rather ignore.  Pidge prefers to think that at least one of them will remain strong for Lance and give back to him everything Lance gives without further thought.  War has already consumed their innocence and their sense of peace, war has already taken the memory of their mother and of their childhood bedroom, taken everything but their love for technology and knowledge.  Pidge knows it is unlikely, but maybe war won’t take away Lance’s vitality as well.

 

But Lance is many things and isn’t most of them at the same time.

He is not fragile, he doesn’t bend, but cutting edges have already stitched to his bones.

He is not smart.  He is not brave.

Lance is scared.

He’s beginning to forget the language he would speak with his family, can’t remember the shape of his mother’s face or the sound of the ocean hitting the shore.  Lance panics and hates every scar the war has given him.  This is not your son, mother, he thinks as he stares at his reflection, your son is lost, father.  I will never be the brother you once had, sisters, brothers.  I am no longer your Lance.

The names of those he cherishes drift away into the stars and his arms, though muscular, aren’t strong enough to stop them and drag them back.

 

His body changed.  Long gone the lanky teenager he used to be, now he had a new form to fill his clothes in.  He thinks that if he were Shiro, or Keith, he’d look good.  What he sees on his still soft though scarred skin is war.

But Lance is and isn’t many things.  

And Lance is selfless enough to notice that his friends, his new family, need him to remain just as he was.  So even though he wants to carve out his skin and jump straight into an explosion and breathe for one final glorious time, he swallows the need and forces himself to shine.  If he can give hope, then he will give it till he cannot stand.  No matter how much he breaks or the endless sleepless nights.

 

But Hunk notices everything, and he’s there to pick up Lance’s remains and hold him tight.  Hunk’s there to stitch him back together, to calm him down, to anchor him in his own heart.

Hunk’s hand is grounding on Lance’s shoulder when Lance feels like the weight on his back is just too much.

 

“I know, buddy,” he breathes and Lance holds back a sob, “it’ll be alright.”

 

 


End file.
